A Knight in Shining Armour (23 page)

Dougless was having difficulty understanding what she was hearing. Robert yesterday and today finding that Nicholas had a wife—a wife he loved madly—was more than she could handle. “I don’t understand,” she said, burying her face in her hands. “I wished you here. I prayed for you. Why did you come to me if you love someone else?”

“You prayed on my tomb. Perhaps if anyone had done that—man or woman—I would have come forth. Perhaps God knew I would need a servant and you needed work. I do not know. All I do know is that I must return.”

“To your wife?”

“Aye, to my wife.”

She turned to look at him. “And what of this?” she asked, motioning to the bed.

“Madam, you placed yourself in my bed. I am but a man, therefore I am weak.”

As understanding came to Dougless, she began to feel deeply embarrassed. Was there any woman on earth who was a bigger fool than she was? Was there any man on earth she
hadn’t
fallen in love with? Let her spend three days with a man and she began to imagine a life together. If Attila the Hun or Jack the Ripper had come forward, she’d no doubt have fallen in love with him. With her luck, she’d be in love with Genghis Khan in
two
days.

She stood up. “Look, I’m sorry for the misunderstanding. Of course you have a wife. A beautiful wife and three lovely kids. I don’t know what I was thinking of. You were on death row
and
married. I’m used to guys with only one major strike against them. I just seem to get luckier and luckier. I’ll get my things and get out of here. You go back to Mrs. Stafford and have a swell life.”

He blocked the entrance to the bathroom. “You mean to unkiss the bargain?”

“‘Unkiss’?” she asked, voice rising. “Again with the ‘unkiss.’ Yes, I mean to unkiss, unhug, un-whatever else it needs. You don’t need me, not when you have lovely Lettice and Arabella-on-the-table.”

When Nicholas moved toward her, his voice lowered seductively. “If our interrupted love play annoys you, we may return to the bed.”

“Not on your life, buster,” she said, eyes blazing. “Put one hand on me and you draw back a bloody nub.”

Nicholas put his hand over his jaw to hide a smile. “I see no cause for your anger. I have represented myself truly. I need help in searching for the person who betrayed me. I want to find the information and return to my home. I have never been false with you.”

Dougless turned away. He was right. He’d never been secretive in any way. She was the one who’d imagined castles in the sky and their living happily ever after. Idiot, idiot, idiot, she told herself.

She turned back to him. “I’m sorry about all this. Maybe you should get someone else to help you. I’ve got my passport now, and my plane ticket, so I think I’d better go home.”

“Ah, yes,” he said. “I see. You are a coward.”

“I am no such thing. It’s just . . .”

“You have fallen in love with me,” he said with a sigh of resignation. “All the women do. It is a curse that plagues me much. I cannot spend three days with a woman and not have her come to my bed. Think not on it. I do not blame you.”

“You don’t blame me?” Anger was beginning to replace Dougless’s self-pity. “Listen, mister! You overrate your charms by a long shot. You don’t know what women are like today. Any liberated women could live in the same house with you and not fall for you. We don’t like conceited, puffed-up peacocks like you.”

“Oh?” he said, one eyebrow raised. “It is just you who is different? In just three days’ time you are in my bed.”

“For your information, I was trying to settle you down after a nightmare. I thought I was comforting you. Like a mother and child.”

Nicholas smiled. “Comfort? You may comfort me any morn you wish.”

“Save it for your wife. Now, will you get out of the way? I need to get dressed and get out of here.”

He put his hand on her arm. “You are angry at me that I kissed you?”

“I’m angry at you because . . .” She turned away. Why was she angry at him? He’d awakened and found her in his bed and he’d started kissing her. Before today, he hadn’t made a pass at her; he hadn’t been anything but a gentleman. Never once had he even hinted that they were more than employer and employee.

It was she who’d made everything up. Out of his teasings, out of the laughter they’d shared and, especially, out of her hurt over Robert, she’d imagined more between them than there was.

“I’m not angry at you at all,” she said. “I’m mad at myself. I guess I was on the rebound.”

“‘Rebound’?”

“Sometimes when you get jilted, or abandoned as I was, you want to jump right back on the train.” He still looked puzzled. “I thought maybe you could replace Robert. Or maybe I just wanted to go home with a ring on my finger. If I went home engaged, maybe I wouldn’t have too many questions asked about the man I left America with and what happened to him.”

She looked up at him. “I’m sorry for what I thought. Maybe you better get someone else to help you.”

“I understand. You could not resist me. It is as the guide said. No woman can withstand me.”

Dougless groaned. “I could withstand you all right. Now that I know the true extent of your enormous ego, I could
live
with you and not fall for you.”

“You could not.”

“I could, and I’ll prove it. I’ll find your secret for you, and even if it takes years, I won’t even be tempted by you.” She narrowed her eyes. “You have any more bad dreams and wake me up, I’ll throw a pillow at you.
Now
will you let me in the bathroom?”

Nicholas stepped aside, and she angrily closed the door behind her, but he couldn’t help grinning at the door. Ah, Dougless, he thought, my sweet, sweet Dougless. You may be able to resist me, but how will I resist you? A year together? A year without touching you? I will go mad.

He turned away to finish dressing.

T
he long black car made its way south
through the beautiful English countryside. In the backseat Nicholas looked across at Dougless. She was sitting stiffly upright. Her lovely, thick auburn hair was pulled tightly back to the nape of her neck and put in what she told him was called a bun. Since this morning she had not smiled or laughed or made any comment except, “Yes, sir,” or “No, sir.”

“Dougless,” he said. “I—”

She cut him off. “I believe, Lord Stafford, we have already discussed this. I am Miss Montgomery—not Mistress Montgomery—your secretary, no more, no less. If you will remember that, sir, it will prevent people from thinking that I am more to you than I am.”

Turning away, he sighed. He could think of nothing to say to her, and actually, he knew this attitude was the better way, but already, he missed her.

Moments later his attention was caught by the tower of Thornwyck Castle, and he found his heart beginning to beat a little faster. He had designed this place. He had taken what he knew and loved of every house he’d ever seen, improved on every idea, and created this beautiful house. It had taken four years to cut the stone and to ship the marble from Italy. Among his many ideas, in the inner courtyard he had built towers with curved glass in them.

Thornwyck Castle had been only half finished when he was arrested, but the half that was completed had been as beautiful as any building in the land.

Nicholas frowned as the driver turned into the drive. Now, his house looked so old. Just a month ago he had been here, and then it had been new and perfect. Now the chimney pots were crumbling, there were broken places along the roof, and some of his windows had been bricked in.

“It’s beautiful,” Dougless whispered, then straightened, “sir.”

“It is crumbling,” Nicholas said in anger. “And were the western towers never completed? I drew the plans. Did no one see them?”

When the car stopped, Nicholas got out and looked around. To his mind, it was a sad place, the unfinished half in ruins, the other half looking hundreds of years old—which it was, he thought with dismay.

When he turned back, Dougless had already entered the hotel lobby, two boys behind her carrying their luggage. “Lord Stafford will want early tea at eight
A.M.,”
she was telling the desk clerk. “And he takes luncheon promptly at noon, but I must be given a menu beforehand.” She turned to him. “Would you like to sign the register, my lord, or should I?”

Nicholas gave her a quelling look, warning her with his eyes to stop her pompous behavior. He’d seen enough of the modern world to know that she was acting strangely. But Dougless turned away, acting as though she hadn’t seen his look. Nicholas quickly signed the guest book in an unreadable scrawl; then the clerk led them to their suite.

The room was beautiful, with dark rose-colored wallpaper and a four-poster bed hung with rose and yellow chintz. A little couch in yellow and pale green sat at the foot of the bed on a rose-colored carpet. Through an arched-top doorway was a small sitting room decorated in shades of rose and pale green.

“I will need a cot put in here,” Dougless said, indicating the sitting room.

“A cot?” the clerk asked.

“Of course. For me to sleep on. You did not think that I would sleep in his lordship’s chamber, did you?”

Nicholas rolled his eyes. Even in his own time this behavior would be strange.

“Yes, miss,” the clerk said. “I will have a cot sent up.” He left them alone.

“Dougless,” Nicholas began.

“Miss Montgomery,” she said in a cold voice.

“Miss Montgomery,” he said just as coolly, “see that my capcases are sent up. I plan to look at my house.”

“Shall I accompany you?”

“Nay, I want no hellkite with me,” he said angrily, then left the room.

Dougless saw that the suitcases were brought up,
then asked the clerk where the local library was. Feeling very efficient, she set off through the little village, notebook and pens in hand, but as she neared the library, her steps slowed.

Don’t think about your life, she told herself. Being dropped by one man and immediately finding another one—a good one—was all a dream, an impossible, unreachable dream. Cold, she thought, I have to remain cold. Think of Antarctica. Siberia. Do your job and remain cool to him. He belongs to another woman and to another time.

It was easy finding what the librarian called the “Stafford Collection.” “Many of the visitors to our village ask after the Staffords, especially the guests staying at Thornwyck Castle,” the librarian said.

“I’m especially interested in the last earl, Nicholas Stafford.”

“Oh, yes, poor man, condemned to be beheaded, then dying before the execution. It’s believed he was poisoned.”

“Poisoned by whom?” Dougless asked eagerly as she followed the woman into the stacks.

“By the person who accused him of treason, of course,” she said, looking at Dougless as though she didn’t understand even simple things. “It’s believed that Lord Nicholas built Thornwyck Castle. A local historian says that he believes Lord Nicholas may have even designed it, but no one can prove it. No one has found drawings with his name on them. Well, here we are, all the books on this shelf have something in them about the Staffords.”

After the librarian left, Dougless took out each book, searched the index for any mention of Nicholas or his mother, and began reading.